


What Dreams May Come

by poppetawoppet



Category: American Idol RPF, Chuck (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Dream Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppetawoppet/pseuds/poppetawoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck Bartowski has a problem, and it involves a certain American Idol winner</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

Chuck Bartowski had a problem.

He'd gotten better at the lying thing, and was really doing well at the acting nonchalant. But this was _Kris Allen._ Chuck was supposed to act cool about meeting him?

He was here because some spy was supposed to be here. Some agent in the drug trade that threatened national security blah, blah, blah, flash, blah, save the day.

Sure Chuck was still excited about missions.

But this was _Kris Allen._ The _American Idol_.

Chuck would never admit to anyone he might have possible set up his phone at home to power dial by—well the technology wasn't exactly illegal per se. Plus it had shorted out the phone line after about ten minutes, so Chuck was fairly sure he hadn't changed the vote that much. But Kris was his favorite and now they were in the _same room_ and it was killing him because he was supposed to be looking for this stupid agent for this stupid drug lord.

"Don't get your panties in a twist because you can't slobber all over your living wet dream."

Chuck gave Casey what he was hoped was a incredulous look. Surely Casey didn't think—

"I'm a fan. He's really awesome and it sucks."

"Sure. Tell that to someone who hasn't seen your porn stash."

Chuck gaped. "You aren't supposed to be digging in my stuff anymore!"

"I have to protect the American people."

"Protecting the American people does not include looking through my collection of pictures."

"Is that what you call them?"

"I don't know what you two are arguing about, but we have a spy to catch and a drug lord to take down if you don't mind," Sarah breezed by.

"He looked at my pictures."

Sarah turned. "Hmmm yes. So have I. You have lovely taste."

Chuck sighed. "I give up. I'm going to walk the room again, see if I flash on anything."

He just liked pretty people. That's what Chuck liked to tell himself. He was cosmopolitan enough to know that pretty didn't have a sex.

Chuck walked the room, ignoring the finest specimen of pretty while simultaneously memorizing his every move for, for observational purposes. Yeah. That's what it was.

*

Chuck Bartowski had a problem.

He'd followed someone who tickled his brain and now he was in a room. Alone. With Kris Allen. Who had somehow sat him in a chair and drugged him. Or drugged him and sat him down. It was slightly unclear.

"You're the _American Idol_ ," Chuck swallowed, his brain engaging enough to speak.

The hands that were tying him to the chair paused only a moment. "Yes. But I am many things."

"You're _Kris Allen_."

Kris sat back and looked at Chuck. "Yes, Mr. Bartowski, you shook my hand at the bar earlier."

"That's not my name. I don't know anyone by that--"

The laugh that came was low, rich, honeyed. Chuck felt himself shiver.

"Please. I know all about you Mr. Bartowski. Everything."

"Everything?" Chuck heard his voice go up slightly.

Kris nodded and stood to whisper in Chuck's ear. "Everything."

Chuck shivered again. He couldn't possibly know—

Then Kris laid his palm against Chucks crotch. Chuck jumped as much as he could, tied down to the chair.

"First, you are going to tell me you want me to blow you. Then, you are going to return the favor."

"I like girls. Girls. Girls." Chuck heard his voice rise with each statement.

"Really?" Kris's hand moved and Chuck felt the heat rise as his hard-on became quite obvious.

"It's okay, it can be between us. Is that what you want?"

Chuck gulped, and nodded.

"You have to say it out loud."

"I want you to blow me," Chuck stammered.

Kris's resulting grin calmed Chuck. Part of his brain screamed at him, like why had Kris drugged him? Why had Kris tied him up? But then Kris's hands were maneuvering Chuck's pants down, stroking lightly underneath Chuck's balls as he knelt.

Kris's eyes peered up through his eyelashes, brown and wicked, his mouth, oh his mouth, those red pouty lips giving a tentative kiss, then dragging down the length of Chuck's cock. Chuck licked his own lips, turned on and embarrassed, not even realizing the low moans were coming from him.

"So you like girls? Bet none of them have been like this, have they?"

Chuck shook his head. "Don't stop."

Kris laughed. "Trust me. No stopping now. Wouldn't know how."

Chuck gasped as Kris's hand grasped him, slowly stroking up and down.

"Now you tell me what you want me to do."

"I-I-I—"

The hand stopped. "If you don't tell me what you want, this stops."

Chuck let out a breath, Who knew Kris Allen was so demanding?

"Well?"

"I want your hand. Yeah, like that," Chuck breathed as Kris's hand began to stroke again, a well-practiced move Chuck intended to copy the next time he was alone.

"Now what?"

"Your tongue. I want you to lick it. Up and down."

Chuck's face heated at how the words spilled out, but he still watched intensely as Kris tongue worked up and down, then swirled around the tip.

"Just like an ice cream cone," Kris said playfully.

"Jesus," Chuck's hips bucked once. "Just blow me already. I want it inside your fucking mouth before I come all over your face."

Kris raised an eyebrow. "What a mouth, Mr Bartowski. We'll have to discuss that later."

Chuck groaned again, but the Kris's mouth was on him,and Chuck could see down his shirt—

The freckles. Chuck felt himself seize as he flashed and came at the same time, images surging with a rush of feeling, his body quaking with release and fear.

" _You're the spy?_ " Chuck didn't even care that his voice was all the way up.

"Fuck," Kris said and stood. "Now I have to kill you before you can blow me. Fuck my life."

"You don't have to kill me," Chuck heard himself babble. "I won't tell anyone. Really. I mean you just gave me the best blowjob of my life. That's worth some secrecy right? I mean, I'll follow you and become your sex slave if you want. Just don't kill me."

Kris turned and smiled, but this time there was a sadness to it. "As lovely as that sounds, its policy. And one thing you do not do, is violate policy."

Kris laid one hand on Chuck's cheek, the other holding a gun to his head.

"It's too bad. I've always had a thing for guys with dark hair."

He pulled the trigger.

Chuck gasped as he sat up in bed. It was dark, except for his TV, still on, the DVR has switched from American Idol to some spy movie he had saved. He rubbed his eyes, his breathing slowed.

He laid a hand on his blankets, sighing at the wet spot he found. It was the third time in as many days.

Chuck Bartowski had a problem.


End file.
